The Artist and her Muse
by fernland
Summary: AU: Hermione trained as a painter to help heal from the war. She is now a reluctantly successful artist who faces some unexpected changes when she is reunited with Fleur. Holy hell, how did I slip into this ship! Fleurmione.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi folks. These are selections from the summer journal of one Hermione Granger. Brilliant witch. Brilliant artist. Very AU and probably pretty OOC too. I hope you enjoy it. Fleurmione.**

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July 2

I was looking down when you showed up. Again with the need to check my planner during breaks. When I brought my head up, my view changed. Two rows ahead, I could see you, your feet resting on the seat in front of you. The large book nestled on your thighs was Rilke. My chest fluttered. I moved my eyes towards your profile: straight blonde hair held lazily in a bun, two tank tops, rolled up jeans; you were so much different than before.

I couldn't concentrate after the break. All I wanted was to watch you think and listen. He was great lecturer; he always made me think. My adrenaline raced as I traced your lines with my pencil. His voice was carried to me and I glanced at the painting he projected on the wall. He spoke of addiction and art.

"We always want and will want always, but the way we want, we can change with art. We can adjust the content, the temperature, the feel of the want. We can change our minds…" I hear the click of the projector put a new painting up, but I can't even bother to look. All I see is you.

"...and I don't mean, make a choice between this and that. I mean art can change our mind! The way it thinks about want, and our choices, so we are not trapped by them…"

He started telling a story, but my thoughts were too large to care. Why can't I rip my eyes away from Bill's ex-wife? How could I go from feeling almost normal again to this longing for a woman who looks almost a stranger after all these years? How did one glance at Fluer Delacour make the rest of my life feel instantly lacking?

Suddenly I was gathering my things and clanking around as I rose from my chair. I felt you turn in reaction, but I couldn't bring myself to look at you. I went through the isle and left.

The sunshine hit my skin and I felt a large exhalation barrel out of my lungs. If I smoked, I would have lit a cigarette. But smoking is disgusting. I had an hour before I had to meet up with Ron. I knew the café a block away would do. They have a wonderful Assam tea. It was to be my re-set button, something to shift out of my earlier chemical reaction to you. The waiter knew me; I had my places, my orbit, things I always did. I thought to myself, "I can change my mind. I can change my mind."

The cream did what I always loved, blossoming on contact with the tea. The second I see my favorite shade of rust is a precious micro-moment where my world feels perfect; there is no loss, no pain. All potential is real for this second. Can a cup of tea hold all of my hopes? This is why I have tea at least three times a day.

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July 9th

I dreaded, wanted this day for a week. This is my orbit, but now it feels so altered. My chest bright, jittery, slightly constricted. The tightness of the excited, unwanted want. Everything looked the same but felt a few degrees heightened. My brain went into scan mode before I even realized that I was looking for you. I sat down, deflated. You were not there.

I re-grouped, part relieved, part drained from all the build up. I imagined myself as an animal shaking off the rain. It was time to actually absorb today's lecture. I tried to recount my real goals, my real life. It's calming and aggravating to remember what I want. Do I really want what I want? I cursed myself for missing the lecture on art, want and addiction.

During the first break, I resisted checking my planner by practicing sitting without memories or worrying. It was too hard; I was reaching for it when I saw you and my agent Landt walking towards me. How the hell do you know Landt?

Gods, and then you arrive. Off the shoulder t-shirt and rolled jeans again, your hair down. The same Rilke book held absently in your hand. You were someone new, yet I knew you.

You extended your hand, not expecting me to rise. "Hermione, It has been a long time."

But I did rise. I gave you a short hug. "Hi Fleur."

Your eyes are blue. The same blue I always remembered from shell cottage, the ones that looked down on my wounds while you wiped my tears. I was caught up in your lashes, when I heard Landt speak.

"Hermione, Fleur was inquiring about your art and she didn't know it was yours. And then to find out you two know each other! It's brilliant isn't it?" He smiled.

Landt, always the sweet muggle. He never knew Voldemort or Bellatrix. He never knew where my art really came from. He drank wine at my gallery openings and sold my art. The woman who bought my painting of two hands almost touching will never knew that they were dead lovers who never got to raise their child, that the image of those hands forever a hair-breadth away from each other burned under my eyelids as I painted them.

The thought dawned on me that you must have seen my collection. Would you notice the perspective? Your face from the view of my tear-streaked eyes. They looked up at you. I can see shell cottage again. I can remember how I wanted the salty wind to take me away from everything. Did you notice that this painting was not for sale? It will never be for sale, no matter how many people want it. Original or print. I couldn't have that painting in my studio or my house with Ron. I couldn't sell it. All I could do was show it and ignore the money offers. I painted it 2 years ago and didn't think of you since.

I had thought the motion of painting the aloof, yet tender veela metabolized my feelings about you. But obviously new ones had risen. You had risen fresh in my mind and body. Your eyes locked on mine. I knew my pause was awkward. I had to speak. "That_ is_ unexpected. How are you, Fleur?"

You stared at me from somewhere deep inside yourself. I felt its pull on me.

"I'm well. I am enjoying summer." You smiled and l took in your tan skin. You were truly golden. Again, your pale lashes that hooded over your deep expression distracted me. Did you always have bedroom eyes? You probably did.

Landt, always the cure for my awkwardness, said, "Fleur, I must show you one more painting before the lecture resumes." That is why I pay him to work for me. He can intuitively sense when my introversion is flaring up. To him this was an artist quirk he dealt with all the time.

We said our goodbyes. I think you are intuitive too. Is that why when you kissed both of my cheeks, you also grabbed my hand? Did my cheeks burn your unhurried lips?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for the kindness. Thank you for reading. :)**

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July 16th

I bought my tea and imagined it a powerful elixir, a destroyer of unwanted wants. It was, at least for a moment. You were not at the lecture today. A part of me was relieved. The other part, a larger part wanted you in my orbit like how it was before. Our paths had always crossed, nudged together during the tournament, the war, Weasley family dinners. Fighting, helping, crying, healing, eating. Close proximity was a default setting. And then you were gone.

Except you aren't gone anymore. You ordered a coffee. I watched you scan the room and see me. I smiled and hoped my eyes weren't as wide as they felt.

You came to my table. Hair pulled back. Skin, golden against a white v-neck. I could paint your collarbone for hours.

"Hello Hermione. Landt told me you'd be here."

Your voice was smooth like fresh gesso on canvas.

"Thanks for coming to say hi," I responded. I took a sip of my tea. How I wished it really was a potion that could ease my state.

"Of course," You said kindly.

Then your eyes held a question. They always held something for me. Only, I wouldn't let myself accept it before. Could I accept it now?

"How long have you and Ron been separated, Hermione?"

"I picked up the last of my things a few days ago. I'm living in my studio now." My whole body tightened with shame and regret. I took my things and left a broken heart in my wake. Like a wave that couldn't help how it moved. Only, I couldn't blame gravity or the moon.

I could pretend to blame art, but you were sitting across from me. I thought I had buried you in color and brush strokes. I thought I let you go.

"How are you, Hermione?"

I could hear your concern. You always spoke my name. Did you know I always wanted to hear you say it? Over and over.

"I'm trying. That's my promise to myself. To always try."

"Yes, I remember." You smiled. A smile that tugged at our past.

I wanted to change the subject because there was a familiar feeling creeping up on me. I needed to ignore it. "Fleur, you look like you've been on holiday. Tell me about it." I was actually proud of how light my voice sounded. A summer tone for a summer day.

"I've been spending my days on the coast of Spain reading and thinking, being quiet." You looked down, then back up at me. Your eyes flashed something. Hope? Potential? Want?

"And now I'm here with you, Hermione."

I coughed and accidentally knocked around my spoon a bit. "That sounds lovely. And it's… it's lovely that you're here." You were reaching out to me with your words and eyes. I just didn't know how to actually reach back. It's my habit to have action in all things but desire. I waited and pouted over Ron and then when I finally got him, I couldn't want him. I couldn't make it fit. I never had to wait for you. I accepted that you were impossible. But are you? You were sitting so close. I could even reach for your hand if I wanted. I knew it was time to give back, to show you I can see your effort.

"Would you like to see my studio sometime?"

"Yes, I would really like that." This time your smile was for the present, the now. It was for me.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: A sincere thank you for all the encouragement. And thank you for the spelling help. I'm sorry if this is too short. Sometimes I can't move to the new phase until old one is gone. And there is definitely a new phase coming for our dearest Hermione. :) **

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July 17th

I'm peeling back the years. I can see Ron and I walking into shell cottage. You weren't there. Bill was sitting in the kitchen. He wouldn't let us turn on the lights.

I stared at Ron trying to reach his brother in the darkness, but that's not what I really saw. In my mind's eye was your face on the night you said my name differently. The night you looked at me like your life was crushing you. Were you waiting for me to say something? How could I? Your eyes began to glisten. Then you walked towards me. I felt panic, but you just kept walking. You didn't turn around. Shameful thoughts to have in the face of Bill's grief.

Even months later it was hard not to repeat that moment in my mind, to let go of seeing my want mirrored in your eyes.

Your portrait, every brush stroke was meant to will you away from my mind, to put you somewhere outside of me. No, I'm lying. Every ounce of paint was to keep you with me until I just couldn't handle it anymore.

Fleur, I think I loved you first. I want to paint you again.

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July 18th

Harry's birthday is coming up. I want to do something special for him because he's Harry, because he's helping Ron get over me, because I never had to explain to him why I didn't want to work for the Ministry or stay in academia. I squeezed him so tight when he told me how he convinced the Minister to stop sending me owls and owls of job offers.

I have years to use my studies. Don't I?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I can't express enough how grateful I am for all the sweet encouragement. I'm glad this is actually enjoyable for folks! I'll keep trying. :)**

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July 19th

I frantically prepared for your arrival all morning, pacing and endlessly fussing with everything you might lay eyes on.

You entered my studio slowly. But your eyes went everywhere. I watched you taking in my life. You walked towards the glass doors. They were opened to the garden.

You inhaled deeply. "Lilacs. My favorite, Hermione."

I smiled. "Mine too."

I wanted to run at you. I wanted to apparate away. And yet another part of me wished I could scream at the top of my lungs that my love had finally come.

I offered you tea. Surely there were better answers to my awkwardness. But tea was familiar, normal, expected even. So, we drank our tea in the garden under a precarious guise of normality. Meanwhile, below our ordinary words, a great swell was building between us. My garden of gentle flowers became overtaken by your powerful undertow. Your summer smile and lashes.

"You painted my portrait, Hermione."

"I did," I replied. Not the most revealing of statements. But I never gave you many words. My mind flashed back to the night at shell cottage. Were you testing my Gryffindor bravery again? I've never been brave in love.

You didn't push the subject and we returned to casual topics. When it was time for you to go, I walked you to the door. You kissed my cheeks and took my hand like before. Your fingers pressed gently against my palm. I felt it everywhere.

"Hermione, would you paint my portrait again? It seems the other one is not for sale."

Your words forced all the air out of my lungs. But who needs air when there is you to paint?

"Fleur, I'd be very grateful to paint you. How much time do we have? I mean,when are you leaving town?"

"I don't have to leave town, Hermione. We have time."

You slowly laced your fingers in mine. As I closed my eyes to bask in the feeling, you gave one last squeeze before releasing my hand and apparating.

Yes, you are braver than me. Much more brave.


	5. Chapter 5

July 25th

The hottest fire burns blue. Is that why I feel the heat of your blue eyes carried to me every night? I sleep with the back doors open. I let the scent of lilacs slowly drive me crazy. The fragrant breeze tightens my skin with want. I want your lines and curves. Your perfectly sharp jaw. I lay above the sheets. I only want to be covered by you.

Then why am I ignoring your owls when I thought your boldness had made me brave?

No longer are you in another room with another lover, impossible to me. Am I so scared of my wants being realized? Running from you is like running from a part of myself, for you are inside me. My love is no longer held between forbidden glances or hidden from me in a gallery. Every second you are here.

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July 28th

I have half painted canvases staring at me from every angle. I have pictures of Ron and me in a box I refuse to unpack. What have I done? I gave up my studies. I gave up a love. Not mine, but Ron's love was a love none-the-less.

I fear that I've done it all wrong, that I've held on to all my wounds. Like how I kept you with me, your face at shell cottage. I'm not sure if I know how to let go. What a fool to think I've healed.

I think I paint my wounds because I don't know how to live without them. My dearest Fleur, my biggest fear is that I will never know how to live without an enemy. My other is that I will get you and then lose you. How come with all we've gained, all I know is how to live in the loss?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: You Fleurmione folks are sweet internet darlings. Thank you for reading!**

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Aug 1st

Ron's eyes. For years they passed over and around me. So many nights I waited for them to find me. They say eyes are the window to the soul. Harry's birthday wasn't a disaster. It was sweet actually. Ron tried. I tried too and we smiled and laughed for Harry. Afterwards I sat in my garden and regretted too many things. Wanted too many things.

I heard a pop. You came out from the dark.

"I'm drunk, Fleur."

You nodded and you were gorgeous.

"You sent your patronus to me, Hermione."

"Oh, I see." A memory flashed of my wand making something shimmery.

Tanktop. Collarbone. Heated moonlit skin. You and summer were conspiring against me. Who was the devil sprite that created such a sultry night? But it was I that drew you to me. My want traveled and found you.

And you came.

"Hermione—"

"No. Wait. I need to tell you something."

You were too gentle, too beautiful. I tried to sit myself up. This was not my most graceful hour.

"Fleur, I don't know how to have what I want. To get it and keep it and keep wanting it. I don't know how to get over what happened to all of us. I thought I had figured it out. Fuck, to think I used to be sort of brilliant, you know?...Oh Fleur, I'm very drunk and terribly happy to see you."

I must have covered my face because I remember you taking my hands and tugging them from my eyes. You were very quiet. But I could hear your breaths. I could smell the charmed lilacs. I felt I knew you right then. I felt all the years compress against my chest. The years of being always close to death and almost near enough to you. Danger around the corner. You around the corner. Everything was a test dangling in front me to show me who I was. What my potential was.

You took me to my bed. I couldn't see your face. You whispered that darkness isn't forever. That light is always next to our shadows, waiting.

I think waiting is what we had always done. Will you still wait?


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Angst is the path of least resistance in my writing, but our dear Hermione deserves some happiness. So, I'm going to wrap up the sad, and the story pretty soon. Thanks for being there. :)**

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Aug 6th

I spent this last week lost in canvas. Whatever came, I painted. Your profile, Malfoy Manor's ceiling, the lilacs. All of my haunts and wants. I pulled them out of me while you were silently pulling at me. Your owls stopped after my drunken foolery. Is your distance is a kindness?

I remember your gentle reassurance. Your hair was falling over me as my eyes closed.

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Aug 7th

I saw Landt's disapproving squint in my mind. This is what always happened. I never wanted to go to my showings. To watch eyes that think they know what they're seeing. But they never know. Landt calls me 4 hours before the opening, then 2 hours. Finally 1 hour before he usually has me worn down. Why do I pay him? Is it because I think he's helping me let go?

I noticed your new portraits were sold before I arrived. I panicked at the loss and cursed my rashness in letting them go. Landt had that smile on his face. I knew that face. It meant that it had been a lucrative night. I grabbed wine and let him introduce me to my patrons. I couldn't say it was hell. I know what hell feels like. But I was miserable all the same.

I wrote to ask if you'd meet me again. I kept pouring myself tea while I waited for your owl. But even tea, an old steady friend, couldn't protect me against nervousness.

Then it came.

_Of course._

Staring at those words, I finally let happiness reach the inside of me.

Right now, I do believe I even feel the return of my long-lost crooked grin.


	8. Chapter 8

Aug 9th

I knew what it was to have an enemy die. I knew wanting and separation. I had suffered torture and the death of friends. I also knew outstanding marks and the exhilaration of many successes. I had felt so many things over the years. I rode on a fucking dragon. I thought I knew what extraordinary was. That was before your fierce look. Before you looked on me with eyes that had finally given up the restraint we've both used for far too long.

Then there was your mouth next to my ear. Your low whisper on my skin.

"It's time, Hermione."

I shuddered. You curled your arms around my back. I was finally enfolded in you, after all the fruitless wanting. I started to cry. How could I not?

You told me to keep crying and I discovered what it was to finally unravel. I shook under the shifting of all my terrors and desires, at the expulsion of so much wretchedness and grief. At long last I felt the war start to leave. And you kept holding me.

What was left after such an exorcism? The smell of skin and summer. The ice above my heart's current shattered. You ran your lips across my mouth and all my atoms surrendered to the present, to you.

* * *

"You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves." -Mary Oliver

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**A/N: Goodbye and thank you for reading. :)**


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